Monthly Archives: October 2016

In December, after returning from America, I will be performing in Chester and Liverpool. To help publicise the events one of the local radio stations asked me to record a performance of each chapter of A Christmas Carol so that they could broadcast them over the five days before Christmas. The only problem with this plan was that each chapter needed to be condensed into around 2 minutes – making a running time of 10 minutes, compared to the 90 minutes of my usual show.

The only time I have come across a shortened version of The Carol was when another actor insisted on reciting his version, which was this:

‘Ebenezer Scrooge was a mean, grasping old sinner. But he lightened up, so that was OK!’

Feeling that I needed something a little more substantial I set to work, and this is what I came up with:

1:

Marley was dead to begin with, there is no doubt, whatever, about that. Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did!

Oh, but he was a tight fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge. A Squeezing wrenching grasping scraping clutching covetous old sinner. Hard and sharp as flint, secret, self-contained, solitary as an oyster,

Once upon a time of all the good days of the year, on Christmas eve, old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak biting weather, foggy withal. The door to the office was open, so that he may keep an eye on his clerk. At length the hour of shutting up the office arrived:

‘You, Bob Cratchit. Here! You will want all day tomorrow; I suppose?

‘If it’s quite convenient sir.’

‘It’s NOT convenient, and it is not fair. You would think yourself ill-used, I’ll be bound, if I were to stop you half a crown for it, and yet you don’t think ME ill-used when I pay a day’s wages, for no work.

‘It IS only once a year, sir’

‘mmm, a poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty fifth of December. But I suppose you MUST have it, but be here all the earlier the next morning, d’you hear?’

The clerk promised that he would, and Scrooge walked out with a growl.

2

Ebenezer Scrooge. You will be visited by 3 spirits: expect the first tonight when the bell tolls one, expect the second on the next night, at the same hour. The next on the next night, when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate.

Scrooge woke as the church clock tolled ONE. He sat up in his bed as the curtains were drawn.

‘I am the ghost of Christmas Past, rise and walk with me.’

They passed through the wall – ‘but I was a boy here!’

The school was not quite deserted and Scrooge wept to see his poor, forgotten self as he had used to be.

The spirit led Scrooge to a warehouse: ‘I was apprenticed here!

‘Yoho my boys, it Christmas Ebenezer!’

Why, its old Fezziwig, alive again!’

‘My time grows short’, observed the spirit

Again Scrooge saw himself, a man now in the prime of his life and he was seated next to a fair young girl.

‘Another Idol has displaced me. A golden one. May you be happy in the life you have chosen.’

She left him, and they parted.

‘Spirit, show me no more, torment me no longer!’ And as he struggled with the spirit Scrooge found himself in his own room, and fell into a heavy sleep.

3

Scrooge woke in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore. He walked to the door and had his hand upon the lock

‘Come In! Come In, and know me better man: I am the ghost of Christmas Present! Touch my robe!’ Instantly they were in the city streets and the sprit led Scrooge to Bob Cratchit’s dwelling.

‘What has got into your precious father’, said Mrs Cratchit, ‘and Tiny Tim. They weren’t as late last Christmas day’ As the words were spoken in came little Bob with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim he bore a little crutch.

The cloth was laid and grace was said. Oh, there never was such a goose, and eked out by the mashed potatoes it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family.

And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor,

‘What place is this?’ asked Scrooge.

‘A place where Miners live, ‘But they know me. See!’

A light shone from the window of a hut,. Passing through the wall of mud and stone, they found a cheerful company assembled round a glowing fire. An old, old man was singing a Christmas song.

Much they saw and far they went, always with a happy ending, until they stood in an open space. Scrooge saw that the spirit’s hair was turning grey and as the clock struck twelve he remembered the words of Jacob Marley: ‘expect the next on the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate.’

He looked about for the Ghost of Christmas present, but saw it not and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming, like a mist along the ground, towards him.

4

The Phantom silently approached. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand.

‘I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come? Lead on spirit, lead on.’

They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them.

The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.

‘When did he die?’

‘Last night I believe -it’s ‘likely to be a very cheap funeral, for upon my life I don’t know of anybody to go to it.’

The spirit lead Scrooge to Bob Cratchit’s dwelling. It was quiet, very quiet.

Bob came in. Alone.

‘Oh my child, my little little child. Oh Tim, God Bless You!

The phantom pointed as before and led Scrooge to a Churchyard. It pointed down to the grave by which they stood.

‘Before I move near to the stone to which you point, tell me, are these the shadows of things that will be, or the things that may be only?

The spirit was silent. Scrooge moved towards the stone and saw upon it his own name, EBENEZER SCROOGE!

‘No spirit! I am not the man I was, I will not be the man I must have been but for this. I will live in the past, the present and the future. I shall honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year round.’

He saw an alteration in the Phantom’s hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.

5

Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!

It’s Christmas Day! I haven’t missed it! The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like.

‘I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. ‘The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.’

He ran to the window and called to a young boy who was passing.

Hallo, my fine fellow!’

‘Hallo!’

‘Do you know the Poulterer’s, in the next street but one, at the corner?’

‘I should hope I did,’

‘An intelligent boy! A remarkable boy. Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there — Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?’

‘It’s hanging there now,’

‘Is it! Go and buy it! I’ll send it to Bob Cratchit’s,’ whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. ‘He shan’t know who sent it. It’s twice the size of Tiny Tim.

Oh but he was early at the office the next morning, if he could just catch Bob Cratchit coming in late! And he did it, oh yes. Bob was a full 18 minutes, and a half behind his time.

‘Step this way. Now, I shall tell you what my friend, I am not going to stand for this sort of thing any longer, and therefore Bob Cratchit, I am going to raise your salary!

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father.

It was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!

If only there a way to find out how Charles Dickens came to write A Christmas Carol; how fascinating it would be to learn about his extensive reading tours.Imagine if there was a resource from which you could be told bout the real-life places that were to appear in Dickens’ ‘ghostly little book’, and what a treat it would be to discover how Dickens’ relationship with America hit high peaks and low troughs.Add to all of that some sumptuous photographs of, shall we say, a theatrical one-man show of the story, and really you would have in your hands the most perfect Christmas gift imaginable.

Sigh….If only…..

Well, do I have good news for you, because such a tome exists!This year for the very first time I have an official Souvenir Programme to accompany and complement my show.Let me tell you the story of how this all came about.

Earlier in the year I was talking to my brother Ian about how best to promote my shows in England, and like the great marketing man that he is, he took our conversation and let it run past the simple process of posters and press releases and on towards other areas of promotion, until between us we arrived at the idea of a collectable brochure.

The idea took hold quickly, and we decided to start work immediately.The first thing was to decide on a size and format that we were happy with, so Ian and I met in London for the first of our many creative meetings.Our rendezvous point was Victoria rail station, which is conveniently close to The Apollo Theatre, where the hit musical Wicked has been playing for many years.Our purpose was to buy one of the show’s own glossy brochures, and glean as much information regarding layout, content, size and weight of paper as we could.

We sat in a coffee shop leafing through this sumptuous book, making notes and coming up with ideas as to how we could fill our own version.The Wicked programme has stayed close to us throughout the process and been a continual guide in our production and design choices.

We knew that our version had to be special and collectable.We were definite that it wasn’t to be a disposable leaflet which would be left on theatre seats when the show was over, but something desirable.We highlighted a few topics that would work well editorially, and I started to make notes so that when I came to write I had an idea of where I was heading.

Our next meeting was at my local theatre, The Unicorn in Abingdon, for our photo shoot.Ian has had a long career in photography, having trained at the Medway College of Art (situated in the very heart of Dickens country), and then going on to have a long and successful career at Olympus Cameras, in the field of marketing and PR.

It was a hot sunny day, so unloading all of the Christmas Carol paraphernalia seemed incongruous.When Ian had connected all of the lights, and I had changed into costume it was time to perform:I simple ran through passages of the script and if there was a moment that Ian particularly wanted to capture, we would stop and go back over it, until the perfect effect was captured.

We must have spent over two hours in that hot little theatre, but it was well worth it, and Ian returned home to start choosing the photographs that we would use, carefully fettling them ready for the design process.

As Ian worked on the images, so I had to make sure that each of the articles that would feature throughout our programme were carefully researched and written.

The subjects were easy, and I have done quite a bit of work on them before, but of course we would be constrained by space.A quick skim through the Wicked programme had told us that each page of editorial ran to around a thousand words, so that was my guide.

I worked at the pieces, surrounded by reference books and with many tabs open on my laptop until I was happy with the mix of historical fact and personal experience.As ‘a writer’ (I hesitate to use that appellation, as it puts me in the same bracket as my great great grandfather, which is a place where I certainly don’t feel qualified to be!), you end up with a text that you believe is finely honed and perfect, but I well knew that many changes would be in store: I placed my creations nervously onto the editing conveyor belt and waited…

Liz is always superb reading anything that I have written and edits it firmly but kindly.Firstly she took herself away and read each piece making notes, and then we sat together going through them line by line.Sometimes a particular phrase didn’t quite work, or perhaps didn’t make sense due to my own editing.Of course, the other aspect of Liz’s scrutiny was the grammar, most especially punctuation.Commas got changed into semi-colons, whilst colons became hyphens.Long, rambling, Dickensian sentences were broken down into more manageable bites, whilst phrases such as ‘broken down into more manageable bites’ were gently turned into recognisable English.

When Liz and I had finished, then the text was sent to Ian, and he went through it editing once more (mainly for length and content), before passing it on to his wife Anne who like Liz is a stickler for accuracy and correctness, and who was far enough away from the original to be completely dispassionate and able to see things with an objective eye.

As time moved on we began to think about the design of the brochure.We had the articles, which hopefully would be fascinating, informative and entertaining.We had the pictures from the show, but we needed a great deal more, so as to give the whole volume a varied and exciting look.Over the years I have read a great many biographies of Dickens, and know most of the images in the public domain, so it was fun to test my knowledge and memory as I selected pictures to accompany my words.With a comprehensive wish-list drawn up, Ian and I went to the Dickens House Museum in London where we were given free run of their extensive archive.

In a large airy boardroom, armed with laptops, we sat with museum curator Lousisa Price.As we went through the programme page by page, I tried to explain exactly what I wanted, and to her great credit Louisa always knew exactly where to find the precise picture, before suggesting alternatives.

Ian created a file folder on his laptop for each page and we collected as many pictures and documents as we could, so that the designers could have a free rein when it came to coming up with the end product.

We now had all of the content and it was time to pass everything over to our design company.To this end Ian was able to use the contacts forged through a career in high-level marketing.Diane and Graham May, of May Creation, had worked with Ian on some of Olympus Cameras’ most important advertising campaigns, and always understood his ideas and thoughts, so they were the perfect company to entrust our new product to.

We met with Diane in London and over coffee (in the rather excitingly-named Love and Scandal coffee shop), before moving our meeting on to an amazing restaurant featuring Brazilian cuisine.As Ian had expected Diane immediately grasped the idea and soon the brochure began to live in her creative mind, as well as in ours.

We said our goodbyes at Waterloo station, and Diane rode home to Dorset to begin a week’s work that would realise our dreams.

And now our attentions moved across the Atlantic and Bob Byers came into the decision-making process.Bob, as regular readers will know, is my manager and agent in America, as well as being a close friend, and he is very much part of the production.We had decided to use an American printer, to cut down on shipping costs, and of course Bob would be responsible for supplying each venue with the programme.

Emails went back and forth as we made decisions about paper and print quality, size of the print run, how to market it to the venues, and how to encourage the audience members at each show to buy it.We would receive regular bulletins from Bob keeping us up to date with numbers and projections.

And now, a week before I am due to leave for America, The brochure is ready (although I have yet to see a copy), orders have been taken and I now have to wait for the first signing line, the first show in Cambridge, Ohio.

The book will be on sale throughout the tour before and after every show, and for those of you who are not able to actually attend any of the performance it will be available to purchase on the Byers’ Choice website.

We have enjoyed creating it and have no doubt that you will enjoy reading it.